


If You'll Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine

by jack_the_giantkiller



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Modification, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_the_giantkiller/pseuds/jack_the_giantkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU; body piercing/modifications kink. Lots of banter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You'll Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine

Bobby Singer sits down at the bar with a few of his friends; his luck that he ends up in the seat next to a square- the man is a total yuppie- business suit, with a perfectly done tie and shiny shoes in a decent, but not classy bar on a Friday night? Total square. So, it’s a bit of a shock when the man turns to him and doesn’t flinch away; instead, examines Bobby’s facial piercings.

“How many do you have?” The man is clearly interested.

“Uh, seven. Lobes, helix spirals- well eleven if you count the three holes for the spirals as separate. And then a septum and snakebites.”

“So, nothing I can’t see?” he shrugs. “Well, still hot as hell on you, if a bit boring.” 

“You’re one to talk, Mr. 9-5 office job.”

The man grins. “I’ve more piercings and body mods than you do, regardless of whether you count your helixes as three each, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Prove it.”

Smirking, the man raises a hand to count. “Tongue forked-” He sticks his tongue out to prove it. “Barbell under it,” lifts his tongue to show the neatly hidden piercing. “Four large multi-colored tattoos- upper arms, chest, and upper back. A complicated, palm sized scarification design on the small of my back and twelve piercings I can’t talk about in polite company, or show you unless you buy me a drink first.” The man grins lazily. “Interested? I can promise a good fuck.”

“Well with twelve piercings you can’t talk about in polite company and a forked tongue, you’d almost better be a good lay; anything less is a waste of your potential.”

The man’s grin turns smug. “Wanna know a secret?” Bobby leans in conspiratorially. “I’ve a fucking huge cock too.”

Bobby bursts out laughing. “Well, hell,” he drawled. He turns to his friends: “Guys I’m outta here, got more than a little lucky.” His friends wolfwhistle and catcall and the stranger laughs. It was a small laugh, that nearly got lost in the raucous calls of his friends. ‘It’s a nice laugh.’ Bobby thinks. ‘I could get used to that laugh.’ He pays for his unfinished beer, and makes a production of paying for the man’s scotch. 

The Englishman snickers, and slips his hand into one of the back pockets of Bobby’s jeans, whistling faux innocently as he cops a feel. Bobby wraps his arm around the man’s waist. 

“My place or yours?” The stranger asks. 

Bobby hesistates. “Well, I live about an hour away, but I’ve got a pickup truck, a coupla blankets, and a warm night, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“My apartment’s in one of the high rises in the middle of the city?” the stranger offers. “Not that I’m not into exhibitionism and public sex, but I prefer something a little less redneck than fucking in the back of a truck.”

Bobby shrugs. “Just warnin’ you, I’m a bit of a redneck myself.”

“Well, you can stay. Something about the piercings.” The man muses. “And the beard, and a bit of mass thank god- half the men at clubs these days are stick thin starving things, or so muscled they’re as hard as statues. There’s just something I like about a bear of a man.”

“If that’s your pleasure, I’m your man.” He hesistates. “What’s your name, anyway, and where am I going?”

The stranger blinks, then flashes a smile and rattles off his address. “Crowley; James Crowley. You?”

“Robert- Bobby Singer. Pleased to meet you, James.”

“Ugh. Call me Crowley- James is my father.”

“James Crowley the _second_?”

“Laugh it up, redneck, I’ll take it out on your ass later.”

“Ain’t exactly a deterent, James II.”

“Alright.” Then Crowley was quiet. Disturbed by the sudden silence, Bobby takes his eyes off the road to see Crowley slipping his his cock out of his slacks. Crowley looks up at him, and wordlessly offers his hand to Bobby’s mouth. Bobby licks it half-hypnotized, and tries to tune out the entirely too distracting sound of his hook up pleasing himself loudly in the passenger seat. The low pitched moans _had_ to be for Bobbby’s benefit, or torture, as was probably Crowley’s intention to begin with.

“Mmm, ah, take that left.” 

How Crowley can give directions, Bobby has no idea, but obediently he makes the turn and finds himself in a /nice/ looking underground parking garage, filled with BMWs, Mercedes, Audis, and more than any one parking garage’s fair share of Cadillacs. 

Crowley carefully zips himself in, and scrawls a note on a napkin- “Guest of J. Crowley, Apt. 1001” He puts it on the dashboard and gets out of the car. He grabs Bobby’s hand in his, still slick with spit and pre-come, and leads him over to the elevator. When they’re inside, he inserts his key into the lock and presses the button for the 10th and top floor.

“Betcha got a nice view.” Bobby offers. 

Crowley smirks, and looks Bobby up and down pointedly. “I’ve got the best view.”

When they exit the elevator, immediately in front of them is another door, which opens as Crowley unlocks it. Bobby has exactly five seconds to admire the gorgeous apartment- penthouse, he thinks, before Crowley’s on his knees, unzipping his jeans. With the ease of practice he pulls Bobby’s cock out through the fly of his boxers, and then Bobby doesn’t think a coherent thought for a few minutes- Crowley’s forked tongue doing things Bobby hadn’t known were possible. Crowley sucks greedily at Bobby’s shaft, working his throat and tongue with the skill born of talent, lots of experience, and the utter lack of a gag reflex. It doesn’t take long for Bobby to give in and start fucking Crowley’s face, hands holding the other man’s head in place. He’d have been worried about the other man, but Crowley was moaning and humming as best he could, making all kinds of very pleased, sexy noises and tugging hard on his own cock. 

When Bobby comes, it’s embarrassingly quickly and he only just manages to warn Crowley, who grips Bobby’s hips and doesn’t let him pull out, swallowing Bobby’s cum.

“Holy. Shit.” Bobby slides down the door to sit on the floor in front of Crowley.

Licking his lips of the last traces of Bobby’s cum, Crowley grins. “It gets better.”

“It gets _better_?” 

“Love, I’ve got a Jacob’s ladder and a magic cross, on a dick that’s double digits. Interested?” 

Bobby pushes himself to standing. “Where’s the bedroom?”


End file.
